


Longnight at Number Six Cheeseman

by sandrilene



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Baking, Bickering, Briar - Freeform, Briar Moss - Freeform, Daja, Daja Kisubo - Freeform, Family, Fluff, Foster Siblings, Gen, Sandrilene fa Toren - Freeform, Sandry - Freeform, Siblings, Tris - Freeform, Trisana Chandler - Freeform, Yuletide, Yuletide 2018, baked goods as expression of love, bickering as expression of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandrilene/pseuds/sandrilene
Summary: Tris is coming home for Longnight after starting at Lightsbridge and her siblings are...nervous. Fluffy, silly, sweet Yuletide fic for roxashighwind.





	Longnight at Number Six Cheeseman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roxashighwind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxashighwind/gifts).



Daja glanced into the dining room where Sandry was setting the table. She watched as Sandry moved a knife fractionally to the left.  
“Sandry?”  
“Yes?”  
“Napkins.”  
Sandry’s gaze shot back to the table. The napkins were shivering. As they watched, the edges of the tablecloth began to levitate. Sandry frowned fiercely. The tablecloth snapped back down as though weighted, and the napkins straightened and froze.  
“Breathe.”  
“I’m breathing! I’m fine!”  
“You’re overjoyed that Tris is finally coming home and not at all nervous.”  
“Yes!”  
Daja waited. Sandry sighed and smoothed her skirts.  
“It was just—she—last time we were apart was wretched, and I hated how hard it was to come back together. I’m not worried Lightsbridge will change her mind about our magic, or, well, anything, but they might—I’m afraid they might hurt her, and she won’t admit that it hurts, or that it won’t be what she wants, somehow, and she’ll be unhappy.”  
Daja crossed the room to hug Sandry around the shoulders. Sandry buried her face in Daja’s collar and leaned into her for a moment. “And I’m afraid she’ll take it out on us. I hate letting other people handle their own problems!”  
Daja laughed. “Yes, you do.” She kissed Sandry’s forehead. “It can’t be as bad as last time we were apart. Trust her. She’s made out of iron and lightning. Lightsbridge will never be the same.”  
“Daja!” Briar yelled. “Why is your oven incapable of heating evenly! Come fix this!”  
Daja rolled her eyes. Briar rounded the corner from the kitchen to scowl at them. Sandry’s eyes widened. “What are you doing in those clothes?”  
“Baking,” he said, only somewhat defensively.  
“You are covered in flour and that is the finest silk tunic I have ever made!”  
Briar shrugged. “It’s not as though you can’t clean it with a thought.”  
“You’re not even wearing an apron! Have you no respect for my work?”  
Sandry was right: Briar was covered in flour. He had smudges of it on his nose and jaw, as well. His tattoos were moving. As she watched, a large, gaudy yellow rose bloomed across the back of his wrist.  
“I look unbearably handsome. And it’s comfortable too.”  
They followed Daja to the kitchen, still arguing. She touched the oven. Briar was right, it was hotter on the left side. She pushed the heat along, evening it out, and stood to stare at the counter. “How much did you make?”  
He scowled at her. “I made enough is what I made.”  
A pie sat next to the stove, ready to bake. Three plates of cookies of two types Daja could discern were cooling, and another bowl was full of dough. “Why are you making more cookies?”  
“Those are scones.”  
Dirty dishes cluttered the counters and filled the sink. Apple cores and peels were piled on a cutting board. Open jars of flour, sugar, and spices were scattered throughout the mess. Briar nudged Daja out of the way to slip the pie into the oven.  
“I am not cleaning this up,” she said.  
“No one asked you to!” he snapped, and shut the oven more forcefully than necessary.  
“Did you make anything that isn’t sweet?”  
“Yes!”  
“Where?” Sandry asked.  
“Well, no, but Gorse did, and he gave me a charm to help reheat it. It’s still in the cold box.”  
“How long will that take?” Daja asked. “She’ll be here within the hour!”  
“What!” Briar looked truly alarmed. “No no no, that’s not enough time, the pie just went in and I haven’t turned out the scones!”  
“We could help,” Daja offered.  
“You knead dough like you’re trying to murder it and Sandry’s never made dinner in her life!”  
Sandry flung up her hands. “Did we not grow up in the same house? I made half your dinners, you ingrate! I’m going to change. And you put an apron on!”  
Daja looked Briar over and sent a pulse of calm along their bond. “I don’t need that!” he snapped, but took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he added, almost inaudibly.  
She passed him an apron.

Tris—pink-cheeked with cold and damp with snow—knocked at Number Six Cheeseman Street. The door thumped back, then thumped again twice more. _“Ow!”_ Briar wailed.  
Her pale eyebrows were raised as the door swung open, revealing a slightly breathless Daja. “Hello,” she said. “Come in.”  
Tris did. Behind Daja stood Briar and Sandry, the former rubbing his elbow and pouting. “She hit me,” he said.  
“I did not! You hit the door.” Sandry scowled at Briar, then beamed at Tris, her smile somewhat over bright. “Welcome home.”  
“Thank you,” she said.  
There was a moment of awkward silence, and Sandry said, “Would you care for some tea? Briar made a new winter blend.”  
“Yes please.”  
Tris let Daja take her cloak and carried her basket into the sitting room. Sandry poured tea with effortless precision. “How was your journey? I hope the snow didn’t hold you up much.”  
“It was fine. The storm won’t hit for another hour.”  
“Oh good.” Sandry fidgeted with her teacup.  
Briar backed through the doorway to the kitchen bearing a tray. Tris’s eyes popped just a bit. “What did you do?”  
“I made cookies,” he said defensively.  
“And pie,” said Daja. “And scones.”  
He glared at her and put the tray on the table. Ginger lemon scones, delicate little sandwich cookies, buttery shortbread, spicy gingerbread. Tris blinked. “You made all my favorites.”  
“Sandwich cookies are everyone’s favorite.”  
She lifted one to her mouth and ate it slowly. “Briar. It’s perfect.”  
He smiled. “Try the scones.”  
Sandry had already eaten one and reached for another. “They’re delicious! Has Gorse been giving you lessons?”  
Briar’s smile widened into a grin. “Once a week.”  
“These are just as good as Lark’s!” Daja said through a mouthful of gingerbread.  
“I love when you cook with spices,” said Sandry, taking a piece. “Did you enhance them?”  
“Just the ginger and the cardamom.” Briar heaped a saucer with cookies and leaned back. “Tris _ahhh_ na, do I see gifts for me in that basket?”  
“Not if you take that tone.”  
They ate half the scones and all of the sandwich cookies before dinner. It was Sandry who finally asked Tris to tell them about Lightsbridge. “It’s—rigorous,” she said. “More so than I thought it would be, but in a different way. Some of the instructors are painfully close-minded. Others aren’t so bad.” She shrugged. “I’m powerful enough that it doesn’t matter much, I think.”  
Sandry smiled sheepishly. “I was afraid you might—not believe what they said about ambient magic, exactly, but take it to heart, I suppose.”  
Tris stared at her. “That’s ridiculous,” she said flatly.  
“Completely!” said Briar.  
“Yes, and you made every cookie Tris has ever loved simply because you missed her,” said Daja.  
“Is that so hard to believe?”  
“Yes,” chorused the girls.  
“Well, see if I do it again,” he muttered.  
Tris was still watching Sandry, who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “It sounds silly now,” she said.  
To her surprise, Tris stood and walked over to her. “Up,” she said, and when Sandry stood, wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I love you. All of you. Don’t forget it.”


End file.
